Birth Of The Hero

The spirit of Prussia will burn in hearts

Until the holy flame of Perkuno is burning

In the heart of sacred woods

Invisible for eyes of simple mortals

The thunder announces the birth of the hero

In nightly silence of the sleeping earth

And the lightning's brightening the baby's face

And his first cry that breaks the darkness.

And fierce wind echoes the baby's cry

And thrills the sky, anticipating the events

Tears off the leaves from ancient trees,

Rejoices the great omen.

The new-born mind as blank paper,

Clean, empty and light like the calm surface of water,

As the grown sprout tears the air apart,

Gathers dust of life on the fresh leaves.

And with the long root absorbing dirt

From all that are going to rotten near

The sprout is hardening, it doesn't want to,

But it will wither like those near that couldn't leave.

Born to be Defender of Native Land

Born to be rain, giving life

Born to be free as a proud bird

Flying in the sky

Born to be stronger than the sword and the storm

Born to be the river's flow

Born to be boiling wolf's blood

to be Flame of Hope

Born to be himself amongst the lost souls

The black hands of storm-clouds are clenching the sun

The wind is bringing anxiety, thrilling the ear.

Beyond the dark horizon the seed of war is ripening

Bringing the smell of death.

The warrior will fight for his people,

For the rivers and forests of grey gods,

For the holy flame of Perkuno

The sunlight is fading...

The day is dying away scratching the sky with its last rays

The last quiet day before the war

The last calm before the storm

The ground is trembling already

And Prussia stands still awaiting